Welcome Back to the Hellmouth
by katharsis0001
Summary: Post S7/Buffyverse. What really happened after Sunnydale blew up and the aftermath decades afterwards.
1. Chapter 1: Silhouettes

**Welcome [Back] to the Hellmouth**

**1**: _**Silhouettes**_

[NB: Don't own or make anything from the use of Wheddon's brilliant creation, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, or other characters from shows that may pop up. I am merely using them for my own creative amusement.]

It always happened like this. A moment that is seemingly innocuous. It always began with a conversation, and for us two broke, traveling girls, it usually ended in violence. That was how it was, the violence, ever since I was a kid. Fend for yourself, prepare and fight. Or die, and brutally so but that was the hope, not the fear because death isn't what it used to be anymore.

It was winter in the Southwest but every town we drove though looked like every place we'd come across before, bombed out and a vision from every doomsday movie I'd ever watched or read featuring every unbelievable twist and turn imaginable. And the boring as hell, which I always hoped for when I opened up my eyes to a brand new day.

A long, long time ago, back in 2003, it all started here, in the good ole U-S-of-A. More specifically, Sunnydale, California. A massive detonation occurred, a blast so strong that it dissolved a magical wall between our world and others. That blast created an extinction level event that cascaded across the globe with devastating consequences. Governments crumbled. Nations became full of the disenfranchised and terrified. Whole cities were consumed in fire and mayhem. Humans became population null, food and play fodder things for the monsters that seemed to come out of nowhere. One day, normal; the next, chaos. Creatures from horror movies were real, further adding to the de-population of Mankind as we knew it. And other reasons too. Even after so many years, what really happened and why was still up in the air.

The cloud cover above now painted the landscape, a wastelands really, in grey, brown, tan and silver drabs. The blast killed trees and flowers by hiding the sun away and making the rain toxic to any living thing it touched. There was no season, no variation. It was always cold and the land barren and empty of life. Except for the few of us that lived through hell on earth, unfortunately, along with every type of cockroach in existence.

"Worthless," Trina said in disgust, using the tip of her rifle to move bits of ceiling and whatever else out of the way. I looked at her, eying the ground full of crap and ready to trip me up.

"We haven't checked under the debris," I pointed out, doing as I say and removing layers of decayed crap with my hands, and wishing I'd put on my leather gloves. My cloth bag held only a few items I'd managed to find and that was after two hours of looking in every niche and corner of the store. I got up from my squat and wiped my hands on my jeans. "Then again, maybe you gotta point."

"Like I said, completely worthless," she muttered, breathe puffing away from her mouth. "Again."

Frustration stitched across Trina's forehead and that constant growl graced her mouth. Again. The bottoms of her flak jacket hung out from under her dark blue hoodie. She wore a thick vest over that, re-tailored to hold various homemade weapons and whatever we found. She wore black fitted jeans and Army shoes and kept her dark blonde hair in a tight ponytail, low at her neck. I didn't look much different from her, other than that I'm five inches shorter and darker-faired.

We'd been taking our time on back roads mirroring old Highway 95, having come up from Utah and along a southern route, more often than not, taking the road a lot less traveled to avoid the roads that were patrolled by raiders, bastards, thieves and at random times, everything else in between. If we got too south, we'd be hitting the Barrier and a whole lot of trouble.

As we traveled, our route random to stave off anyone trailing us, we looted every store we could, restoring our jeep with much needed supplies for survival. Specifically, to barter with when we came across gangs and highly distrustful secluded towns, when we ran low on ammo and gear. What remained of the Safeway store had been all but raided of anything useful, like most buildings. The only good thing was that we hadn't come across any bad guys, the monsters and fellow human hunting parties alike. Sometimes the enemy had the same face as you; sometimes the monsters had a better understanding of when to attack, and when to lie low. Humans weren't always that smart.

I was also exhausted but tried not to show it. "There are other places," I said, lowly, Trina's growl as impressive as my jaw-popping yawns. "We have a few hours before we need to break for camp."

I looked around at the daunting task of searching through the final quarter of the grocery store of things that were not there or rotted beyond recognition. Who knew shopping could be so exhausting? I watched dust bunnies float in the silver light of a late afternoon, feeling my spirits droop as low as my shoulders. I felt eyes on me and saw Trina watching me. I met her hard gaze unflinchingly. I knew what she was thinking. That I was much weaker than her, and she was right. To a point.

"There are other stores," I repeated, my voice calm. I met her stare with ease. I let her know I wasn't as intimidated by her as she would like. I'm not that weak. I just don't see the point in pretending I'm Bad Ass And Heartless Bitch Chick 24/7. "But for tomorrow. We're in no rush or any immediate need of supplies."

"We always need supplies. And we especially need more ammo. But you're right, it won't be today." Trina's boots made clunky, echoing sounds as she resituated her pack to a more comfortable position on her shoulders. She shook her head, dark blonde flyaway swaying listlessly against the sides of her narrow face. "At least we haven't met any unsavory unwanted."

"Which is why we can afford to linger here for a few weeks. Catch up on sleep, re-organize our plans. Plus, we _are_ in Arizona, land of OK Corral and shit like that. Even if the gun shops are cleaned out, nine out of ten people probably have guns, knives and other weapons in their house. We'll just have to dig it out, and that'll take time. It'll give us more to barter with if we have to go through major cities."

"Maybe…but information is much more valuable, even more so than weapons."

"Don't even think about it," I warned.

"Not all of California is controlled by the vamps," she said, again. "It's mostly the central and northern parts. They have a lot of outposts in the southern section of the state and they're still vulnerable near the desert. Despite that fact that the cloud cover over Cali is the most concentrated, the ambient light still harms them. If we got to one of those outposts, stole whatever is there, that'd be our passport to the Barrier and we wouldn't have to entertain any other options, as you always say."

That was a pipe dream. Central California was _The_ epicenter of the beginning of hell on earth itself and where everything had gone wrong. It was ground zero for all the bad and every monster that could formulate a thought came from. I was so tired of this circular conversation. "That's if those outposts would have anything worth stealing or bartering with."

"Fine, we could head directly south and try our luck through the Barrier without any creds."

"And get killed after all our hard work at avoiding it? The Militia controls the whole border." I tossed back quickly, and quite dubious. "They also kill anyone in sight now, and I mean from a scope miles and miles away unless you've gone through the proper channels. You need to know someone and then they have to vet you, make sure you're not a monster lying in wait, like what happened in Canada. Like in parts of Europe. Everywhere it seems these days. It's suicide."

"My point exactly," she said softly, giving a closed-lipped smile. "You've been a downer these past couple of months about finding Axel. You think we have any options left to us at this point?"

I hate being prodded into a corner and of my own doing. That was the whole reason we were on this little southern joyride. To find this mysterious 'Axel' that Trina had heard about twenty, thirty towns ago, which was now going on six months. Supposedly, the guy had a way of getting anyone to safe zones, places in the world that had been too far away to be immediately affected by migrating and loosed monsters, and therefore, had time to build protective walls and have a battle plan to defend the onslaught of a new kind of scary-shit monsters that may find a way their way. But without working airplanes, no trans-continental vehicles of any kind to move people from even a short distance, it all seemed fantastical. A beautiful lie. There is no safe place on this earth, not anymore. Not since Sunnydale blew up and introduced the world to everything that went bump in the night, times a thousand.

Frankly, I was convinced the guy didn't exist, even if there were 'eye-witnesses' that claimed they'd received messages from family members that had somehow found Axel and had gotten their ticket out of hell on earth. We hadn't had that luck and after so long, we still couldn't get a bead on him. No one could. That was the essential point, I was certain. What was strange was that about the time stories of his feats began spreading, an increase in never-seen monsters began popping up. More people were getting killed or changed into a variant of whatever horrible creature had touched them. Maybe it was a coincidence, as Trina said; or maybe not, like I thought.

"I've tried crossing the Barrier, with others when I was a teen," I said grimly. "I know how that will end but this Axel guy can't be our only option."

"What else is there?" she shot back.

"Parts of the high northwest is becoming safe…parts of Alaska and British Columbia." I paused, letting that parcel of recent info sink in. "Jolene said it herself and she's your contact and her word has always been solid."

Trina made a face, not liking my input but mainly because I had an opposing point of view and suggestion. Some days, I wonder why we stuck together when our personalities and philosophies were so divergent and disagreeing at almost every other point. Then again, the person who could put up with you was the one person who may not abandon you. Or maybe I was projecting. It was just that I was getting tired of moving around non-stop for the past year. The idea of finding a haven that was relatively safe was incredibly attractive to me, and establishing some roots with more than just one person.

Trina threw her rifle over one shoulder. "You know, we should—"

A sound from the back had us go still. We looked at each other, then at the source of that sound and heard nothing for a full minute before we heard it again. Like someone was rummaging around.

Like always, Trina followed a hunch, which never ended well. She gave a quick signal at me and darted ahead and around before I could even convince her of an alternate reaction, like running…away. On the other side of the aisle, I could hear her feet making scruff-scruff sounds against the dirty floor, as she didn't even attempt to mask her approach. No point, maybe. She was on the other side of the canned food aisle, motioning with me with how slow and steady her movements were and I had no choice but to mirror her and listened intently.

I drew out the compound bow I'd lifted from a hunting shop back in Colorado. The only problem being that I had limited metal arrows. I held it up against my shoulder like a gun, aiming and ready to kill. My breath kept floating in the way and I had to keep making fine-haired adjustments as I moved forward.

"Why is it always in the back where the meat's cut up?" I asked myself softly, my heart hammering in my skull. The noises got louder. Snarls, low and guttural. Animal. Not human. I knew what was back there. I may not know the _genus_ or the face, but it wasn't human, and it was hungry.

We cleared the end of the long aisle at the same time. I could see Trina on my left peripheral, her focus like steel and determined. Me, less so. I was tired of this, the killing and the tension. At that split second, the idea of whatever was back there might end me…was more attractive to me than finding a safe place to hide away in. That bolstered me, lifted me out of my cerebral melancholy. For now.

We headed around the half-falling down counter, moving more carefully as we got closer to the swing double doors. It was dark but the shadows were gray under a silver glow of rest of the light flooding the rest of the space. Through the wide windows of the double doors, I could see nothing. That was because the plastic windows were splattered with dark brown and black spots. Old, dried blood.

Trina and I gave each other tight, quick looks. We were too trained at this. We knew what to do and so we did. Trina entered first because she was quicker on her feet and less squeamish. She shot without thinking and asked later. She rarely apologized or felt sorry afterwards.

When we made a collective and unified decision, which was surviving and winning whatever little battle came at hand, we were like a perfect killing machine. And everything always moved in a blur. But I always remembered the smell of death, which burned my stomach and coated the insides of my nose. The kind of smell that stayed with you, embedded under your skin and became a part of a cellular memory. Something to be inherited for the next generation.

The meat room was cluttered and littered with shit that didn't even belong there. There was a huge table dominating the center. The perimeter, metal counters with huge sinks and metal cabinetry above. It was basically a large kitchen and had clearly been ransacked. A few bodies in various stages of deterioration also littered the floor and counters. I immediately saw that there was no other way out other than the way we'd come in.

My brain didn't register what my eyes were seeing. Zombies. And a vampire that had, somehow, become part zombie but not fully. I could see chunks of that halfling vampire-zombie Frankenstein, the lack of understanding and consciousness but struggling to…be aware but failing. The vamp opened and closed her—its—maw, making this awful, mewling and strangled sound that had my skin crawling. It had a broken leg, the bone peeking out, gleaming white with red globs falling off it. An eyeball dangled out of the socket, quite literally by a thread, and part of its face sunken in, gnawed off fingers, multiple puncture marks of different sizes and things my brain didn't want to contemplate any further. Where zombies lacked intelligence. Vampires did, even the lowest denomination of the vampire race had a spark of human in them. This trio didn't at all.

As far as I could tell, there was only the three of them. Delirious. Crazed. Hungry, in a fast frenzy to feed that they did not realize that the body they were munching on had only been dead for days. Because it was cold, decomp had slowed the process down so there was still meat on the bone and quite possibly enough fluid to entice these three.

"What the fuck…what is that thing?" I breathed, which drew their attention to us. Dead meat versus fresh. "Shit."

Trina advanced without any artifice or fear. She fired, hitting one of the zombies in the neck. The sound of the bullet piercing through and hitting metal was loud like firecrackers. The other in the chest. I was able to shoot one of the zombies in the face, twice before it fell backwards just as the vampire flew at us. I shot it with my bow, straight through the heart but it didn't turn to dust but exploded like a filled balloon. To my shock, black, slime-tar like substance flew out at in every direction in wavy, elasticy globs.

When it hit Trina across the arm and face, she screamed. I saw, to my horror, the liquid melt away at her face. My heart jumped, rattled but my grip on the compound bow was firm, unyielding. I heard her as she dropped to the ground, the gun firing before it rattled and miss fired as she uselessly fought to fight off the globs eating away at her skin. She continued to scream, feet kicking out as though she were being physically attacked and things crashing around her as her feet made contact with nearby debris. Her screams turned to low, groans. My thoughts scrambled to stay focused and coherent. I wasn't sure what to do, go to Trina and help her, get her safely out of the way or kill the other two monsters.

When the vamp blood and insides hit the last zombie, it didn't scream but its decaying flesh began to disappear, as though the vamp's insides were poisonous.

Instinctively, I ducked and rolled, got out of the way before it could touch me but as I rolled, I was abruptly stopped and hit the back of my head and upper shoulders against something incredibly hard. My vision went blurry and I lost contact and sight of my bow. However, I definitely felt a splatter of the vamp remains grace the outer side of my heavy-duty Wolverine boots. I heard and felt, rather than saw, what the liquid did. Head now screaming and the world dark, tilting and foreign, my foot getting eaten away and not out of the woods, I tried to get my body to move but only parts would obey my mental commands. My whole body twitched, sweat rolling down my neck and spine; the pain settled in deeper, shimmying down my body. I tried to move but more pain shot through me and I couldn't get my left arm or legs to work properly.

This sound, this strange sound of half moan and exhalation of fear, panic and pain, came out of me. I'd heard it before, of those come and gone, and of a certain kind of realization. My vision cleared enough for me to see, just in time, the other zombie staggering toward me, that steel arrow sticking out of him like it was a splinter. It didn't feel pain. Just an insatiable, untenable hunger it had to assuage. I was backed in a corner. "Trina!" I screamed but it came out breathy and strained. She'd gone so quiet. The image o her face being eaten away…could anyone survive that? It didn't matter. I got no answer. I called for her again but only the sounds of the zombie and my heavy breathing could be heard.

I took out a .38 that I kept as a backup, a last resort. It too had limited bullets but unlike the bow, the gun was for me. In a zero-sum scenario. Like now. Because I knew. I knew, right then that Father Death was upon me. My vision cleared just enough as its mouth, dripping with a sticky foam around its rotting away lips, opened and brown-gray, decaying hands with clawed nails reached for me. I held up the gun, eyes wide-open, scared and seeing only a feathery image but in my mind, my imagination was sharper than ever.

"Not today mother fucker, not today," I whispered hoarsely, palms sweaty and terrified. I would rather die than become one of them.

I held the gun firmly in my hands, egging myself to just get it over with. Being dead-dead was better than just being dead. As I pulled the trigger, another body, darkly clad, came out of nowhere. I couldn't stop the press of the trigger, just the heat burn through me. The last thing I watched was the dark-clad shadow ripping the head of the zombie off. Then the world went black, the boom of the shot sang through my hands, up my arms and right into my head, like a swan song.


	2. Chapter 2: Powerless

**2**: _**Powerless**_

[NB: Don't own or make anything from the use of Wheddon's brilliant creation, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, or other characters from shows that may pop up. I am merely using them for my own creative amusement.]

A voice, not mine, cut through the haze.

_Still haven't heard from Carter…overdue…_ There was a pause, a soft snort. _Here today, gone tomorrow…_More unintelligible words and a crackling sound that made something inside me twitch. _Could use a drink…pina colada…no…beer….hmmm…hamburger…_

The voice talked too damned much, was my first thought. I heard the voice floating in the ether, somewhat garbled and distant. I was dead; I had to be. I was in some nether region and tuned into some strange frequency of the hereafter. Right? Then I smelled something else. Something burning. I forced my eyelids open. My eyes fluttered. I felt my body jerk and quiver. I've alive! God, was I really alive? I blinked. Navy blue sky when slots of heavy cloud cover opened up, but ever so briefly. Just a look, a glimmer of something untainted and beautiful. Then, pain erupted behind my eyes and drifting toward my temples and the rest of my head. I groaned, a scratchy, low sound escaping out of me.

"Good," continued the voice, "you're alive. Congrats." A brief pause. "I think. Maybe. Probably. Eh…who really knows anymore? I'm beginning to think I dialed the wrong number."

I gave another groan at his strong of gibberish. "Uhhh," I said.

A face floated over mine. I was met with a view of a young male peering down at me with steady eyes, an ironic expression and a slight, almost worrying frown as his gaze inspected me. "Glad you're awake. It's been, like, three days already." I felt his hand, cool but comforting on my forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Tree bad. Fire pretty."

"That good?" he intoned, analyzing me with this quixotic expression like he wasn't sure what he was doing but trying to look like he was. "Better than dead. But that's just my perspective. Maybe not yours so much, or was."

Without thinking, I sat up, like a reflex and caught the guy off guard. I ended up ramming my forehead into the guy's, accidentally. We both screeched. We both swore. I rolled onto my front and, before I knew it, threw up yesterday's dinner. Or was it the day before's? Whatever day or time of consumption, I threw it all up and it burned like acid, what little there was. I coughed the last of it out of me, eyes watering and was beginning to wish I really had blown my head off. At least for this miserable portion of my life.

When I turned over, rolling my head this way and that to get my bearings—we were in some secluded alley, the back lot of a no outlet cul de sac for three shopping businesses whose names I sort of recognized from a bygone era—I caught sight of my savior. A young-looking guy with light blonde hair, cut short but not severe. I'd rendered him on his knees. He wore black, head to toe, the style, reminiscent of military fatigues. God, I hoped he wasn't a crazy-nut Militia-type asshole.

I tried to speak but I just made these scratchy, pathetic croaking sounds that made no sense at all. The one time I need to scream obscenities and death threats, I can barely breathe or move without resistance within my own body.

"Yu have a hard head, you know that?" he said through gritted teeth. "Made out of titanium, or whatever the hardest metal existences on this planet, I'm pretty sure."

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, voice raw and raspy. I rolled over to my side, trying to make the world not tilt and whorl so rapidly around me. "And where is my bow?"

He tossed a rock in my direction but not at me. I flinched, which made my whole body tense and reverberate with stimuli, pain. The rock landed a couple of feet ahead of me and in arm's reach. There was my bow and all my arrows. He'd even made sure to grab the ones I'd used to shoot the zombie and vamp. Well, wasn't that thoughtful of a complete stranger. Now, I wondered what price he'd stipulate for his 'aid'.

"You're welcome, by the way."

I dragged the bow closer to my body, watching for him acutely. "Who are you?"

"Nobody."

"Sure…" I said roughly, having learned the hard way that 'help' came with a lot of strings. My eyes continued their search for Trina, and finally saw her behind me, on her back and still out cold. But she had bandages, as though she'd been doctored up, a blanket over her body and near a low burning, controlled man-made fire. "Trina…"

"Your friend—Trina, is it? Sorry to say but she sustained a lot of damage, mostly to the upper body and head area." He rubbed his temples, following my gaze and lingering over her. For the first time ever, she seemed so small and fragile. He turned his head toward me but I continued to stare at her lifeless-like body. "She's still alive but I don't know if she'll ever recover. Or even wake up. Whatever liquid that vamp creature leaked, it was toxic to soft tissue. It pretty much ate away at the contact points, through bone too. She had a fever and it hasn't really broken yet. Even if it does, I'm not sure what will happen."

Oh god. How horrible. I tore my eyes away, looking around, devouring every visible plane my eyes landed on. It hurt to have them open, to see and process. My brain hurt, the very nerves and cells firing my body ached. "How did we get here? How are we both alive…"

The guy stood up, fingertips testing the middle of his red forehead. I'd bet big my forehead was as read as his, but I knew mine hurt even more. And that my brain was even more confused than this guy's. "After I saved your sorry ass and dragged it and your friend's to some place not infested with…whatever fun things those were…I kept you two as comfortable as I could. This was the safest place I could find when I first scouted the area."

That was not heard of. Two lone women like us. We were usually taken advantage of, in every and any way possible. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, out of the goodness of little old heart?" was the wry reply. He was still wincing. Us both.

I groaned, falling back, face to the ground and the cold felt refreshingly good. It didn't stop the feeling of nausea and dizziness. "Sarcasm at this moment is lost on me. Thanks for nothing, I suppose."

"Don't bother. Your .38 backfired on you. That's the only thing that saved you," he said, still wincing but tossing me a flask. "Water. You didn't take much in while unconscious."

Still choking on myself, I took it, uncapped it and sucked it dry, still coughing and rendered completely breathless. My chest heaved, taking in air too rapidly but starving for it. Carefully, I sat in an upright position, legs ahead of me and the world tilting. The darkness was making it even weirder and discombobulating.

I touched my face, which burned and hurt like hell. There were bandages as well, mostly the right side of my face. My right hand also tingled and was securely and expertly wrapped. He knew his way around more than a band-aid. Lucky lady I am.

"You just got secondary burns; it's fairly superficial. A hole in head is more complicated to recover from," he said. "Anyway. You and your friend went in and out. I tried to give you two food and water but it wasn't much…but enough…obviously."

Yes, obviously indeed. I felt refreshed, in a way. Actually, I felt horrible but not exhausted, which was strange. I suppose being unconscious had is usefulness, which was even stranger to admit.

I tried to think back to what happened but it was a blur in my head. "Did you kill the other zombie?"

"Yeah. Took some effort but I torched the whole room, just in case."

"That'll draw unnecessary attention," I said.

"Maybe," he said, a shrug in his voice.

"You should have used a gun, not your body. One bite, and it's all over."

"Ditto."

Okay, so I could have shot at the thing but my puny .38 wasn't good for defense against most monsters, just humans.

And had he really said three days? Not like we were on a timetable or anything but still. Being unconscious and at the whim of a complete stranger was scary as all get out. "But why?" I repeated, rolling over again but got on all fours and then sat on my heels, feeling naked without my bow and arrows. He hadn't removed my clothes. In fact, all my stuff was on me. I was dirtier and smellier but mostly intact and unharmed by other means and ways. "The law of the land is serve yourself and no other."

He shrugged again. "Where I come from, we take care of our own." He seemed to look past me, and he shook his head. "Those things back there, they weren't one of us."

"If you say so…" I searched out his eyes, looking for the truth and finding the face of a guileless man. Or maybe my accumulated head traumas were coloring my perception. He held my gaze though, and finally shrugged, moving away to the makeshift fire he'd built and a metal pot over it. As soon as I realized he was making food, I smelled it. Rich and luxurious. My stomach tightened, growling.

He looked toward the fire, shadows dancing against his face. He was young, about my age, early twenties but the way he spoke, moved, everything about him said he was much older, but that was what this brave new world gave you. A kind of wisdom that made you more aware of the horrors that used to be contained and artificial.

"Where are we?" I asked, doing a slow turn around our surroundings. The dilapidated building façades with all those broken windows, doors and missing walls made me nervous but I didn't hear anything amiss and I didn't feel my hackles rising. Yet.

"The back area of a strip mall. This is where all the employees had to park," he answered, gesturing to the fire and heading towards it, almost at a sideways, weary and watchful stance, like he was waiting for _me_ to attack _him_. "You should eat. Drink more water. Get more rest."

I moved away from him and closer to Trina, who was positioned close by the fire and bundled in layers of blankets. When I reached her, I knelt beside her prone form and felt…bad for her. He'd covered up all the injured parts, again, expertly so. "You have experience," I said, glancing over at him, "in medical things. Are you a doctor?"

"No. I don't have that distinction. I just know the basics of first aid." He exhaled, slowly. "Have you ever seen anything like this before," he asked, looking up as he squatted by the fire and added worn paper to it. "That thing you shot with your bow."

I shook my head, leaving Trina alone and limping a bit back across from him. I sat down, wincing the whole way through. "That vampire wasn't…normal," I began, watching as he used a wooden stick to stir the insides of the pot.

"Yeah, like you can call any of this 'normal'." He made quotation marks with his fingers for that last word.

"Point taken," I admitted. "Anyway, hybrid creatures aren't the norm. These creatures that came out of the California Hellmouth, they tend work alone, or stick to their own. They don't band together, and they surely don't feed upon each other as sources of food." I paused. I actually have no idea what I'm talking about, not really. "I've never seen anything like that, is what I mean." I paused again. "I've heard strange stories about new and different creatures appearing in the past few years but that makes no sense either."

"Definitely more than just your usual presto-change-o metamorphosis." He gave a low curse. Almost to himself, he said, "She sealed the main gate back in '03. So they can't be coming through that way. Can't be. Not with all those vamps swarming that location now."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, perplexed. Either my injuries was making me hear wrong or he really was a nut job in disguise. I palmed my bow, formulating a safe exit strategy for myself and Tina. "Who are you talking about and what 'gate'? You mean the Barrier?"

"No…it's nothing. Just the mutterings of an old man."

"We look about the same age. You're not old," I said. "Unless I'm old too?"

"I was speaking metaphorically." He shook his head, producing two wooden bowls. He tossed the stick aside and dipped one wooden bowl into pot, filling it full and handing it to me, over the fire. "Eat up. That was the last of my venison. Sorry, no silverware. It's finger food, whether you like it or not."

Greedily and gracelessly, I took the bowl, then automatically weary and suspicious of it. I could feel the heat penetrate my numb hands. I watched him eat first. You can never be too careful in the wild, wild, monster-infested West.

As I poked away at it, I could see bits of…meat! I thought he was joking, or just speaking words but he hadn't. I tried not to get too excited. Animal meat had long since been a bygone throwback, especially with the vampires needing blood and the human population dwindling or turning into various monsters that fed upon them.

I ate and felt guilty as Trina laid there, motionless but breathing, though shallowly. I tore my attention away from her. When the nights are quiet, like now, the wind was serene and the flutter of the world didn't echo back harshly, I worried that the stars were too still and unwavering. I couldn't see them right now, see what they were plotting, read their myths in their light, and plan my own future, defying them every night.

I have never seen the night sky and the moon, only in stories, tales from my mother's knees. Even in her voice, it was an age ago, a lifetime so removed from today that I think I've dreamed up an existence that will never be again. Or if it does, will happen long after I am dead and gone.

"Who are you?" I asked again, tentatively poking at my thick bowl of soup with my finger before digging in.

"No body you know, somebody to forget," he said, this faraway sound to his voice and a distance in his expression that resonated. We were strangers in a strange, fucked up land, but some things, like sorrow and pain, were universal. And wasn't that the epic tragedy of the ages, eh?

"Where are you from?"

"No where. I'm not from around here."

"You already said that once," I said. "But you don't mean it. And besides, we are all some one; we're all from some where, some place. "

"You're right, but…I'm just a visitor, doing my job, re-connect with someone on my way there and then we're going back home."

"What's your name," I asked. "And don't tell me 'no one'."

He ate, licked his lips, his fingers and took his time to answer. "You first, sweetheart."

I ate, the food burning the roof of my mouth but, god, so fucking good. "JB," I finally said, trying not to inhale and make a mess.

"John…Doe," he returned, his eyes never leaving me.

Clever, clever jerk. "Fine, be coy," I said. I couldn't blame him. At least he wasn't stupid.

"Is JB short for anything?" he asked, tipping his bowl toward him then putting it to his lips, taking in the dregs. "Sounds like it's short for something."

I sighed. The long lineage of my family was, well, long. "Uh, ah…I was named after my grandmother and my aunt. I've always been called JB to differentiate between them," I explained, wondering why I was felt compelled to explain to a complete stranger, even if he saved my life, and Trina's. "Anyway, it's at least my name, even if it is short for something. So. What's yours?"

He stared into the fire, empty bowl in his hand. "I'm not being coy. My name really is John and no, my last name isn't Doe but until I get to know you better, just call me John."

"No offense," I began slowly, barely chewing my food, "but I don't want to get to know you any better. It's best we keep to separate paths. Crowds draw too much attention. Crowds draw other kinds of bad crowds."

"Oh. Yeah. Third wheel syndrome." His eyes flicked towards mine, across the fire and darted away. He wasn't offended at my lackluster thanks or even surprised. "Okay. I get it. It's how it works on this planet. Fine, I can deal. Done it before. Like before, don't have a choice. Same old story."

_It's how it works on this planet?_ I shook my head. "I just think it's best that you go your way, and we go ours. We have different agendas, I'm sure."

"We do," he said, matter of fact. "I know we do."

"Why are you in this town anyways?" I asked, sweeping semantics under the proverbial rug. Names were meaningless anyways. I held up a hand in peace when he gave me a long look. "Just making conversation."

"I as supposed to meet a friend. But she never showed." His jaw worked and I could tell this person meant something to him and her lack of an appearance worried him. But that look was gone a second later when he observed me watching him. "Like you, this is just a stopping point, a distraction before I get to my final destination."

"Which is?"

"West, and beyond but within the Milky Way." Quite skillfully, and before I could ponder on his strange words, he turned his questions back to me. "Where are you from? Why are you and your friend here? How'd you two meet?"

Something about him made me want to tell him, and that, in a weird way, I felt I could trust him. I'd met my share of people I couldn't trust. John didn't exhibit the signs, or the instinctual habit to dismiss as a low-life. So I spoke. "Actually, I lived not too far from Sunnydale, near the base actually, with my godparents for a time before we left for safety in the Rockies." I had to thick back because it felt like a lifetime ago. "I was five but I still have memories of the fear, the vampire squads, the blood tributes. But when Will got word that a close friend of my aunt's might still alive, but that he was near Sunnydale, right in the thick of things, it changed everything. It was like a spark of hope reignited. That was when I was eight, and I never got to see what came of that spark. So, my godparents went, to see if it was true, and never came back."

John dragged his pack and started pulling stuff out of it but it was too dark for me too see, just swaths of what looked like cloth, maybe more blankets. It was cold, and would get colder but I felt nothing. "What about your parents?" he asked, at length.

Yes, what about them? "I barely remember my mom. My dad? Mr. Mystery X. Mom was part of the main movement after Sunnydale blew up and started this whole thing. She was their leader, trying to make my aunt's death mean something. Fighting the monsters was more important than raising her daughter." I shrugged. "I barely remember her." I paused, turning my head slightly as a brief wind rustled the space around us. "I now know why she fought so hard, why she put me aside. She was fighting for my future and she couldn't do that, taking care of me, which is why she entrusted me to my godparents, two of the few people she trusted without question." I stared into the fire, the flames low and red. "The vampires have been culling the surrounding lands before my years. I think they eventually got to my mother. After a while, my godparents left to continue the fight, or went to find out what came of my mother." I shook my head, shaking the cobwebs free. "One day, I woke up and no one's there. Just a note that they had to go away and would try to come back. They told to me to be strong, to survive. I never found out what happened to any of them and while I been kept safe, for a long time, I would be alone from that moment on."

"How did you and this Trina woman meet up?" John asked, adding whatever would burn to the fire. I neither felt cold nor warm. I felt numb "You two seem to be on some sort of mission."

I smiled at that. "In a way…a couple years or so ago, I got myself into trouble with a raiding gang. Trina saved me, kind of took me under her wing. She's sort of the older sister slash mother type." I gave a brief shrug, feeling conflicted all over again. "Ever since, we've been trying to find a way through the Barrier, find the right people, get the right credentials and whatnot. Or find this guy that probably doesn't exist to help us into a safe zone that probably doesn't exit. Or believe in rumors that the northwest region might be a viable place to try to have a life. Who knows? It's all just a big question mark. We're chasing after something that may not be but that's all we have and maybe, just maybe, something good exists in this fucked up world of ours."

"Sounds tedious."

I actually laughed. "You have no idea."

John looked over at Trina, still unmoving but breathing. "How old were you when you were left alone?"

"Twelve, thereabouts." I counted back not sure when I was born or how old I really was. Some days, I felt ancient. Other times, Trina, who said she was a lot older than me and acted like my mother, made me childish. "I'm twenty-three now…almost nine years on my own."

"Jesus," he swore softly. "And you survived, by yourself all that time?"

I nodded. "I was lucky, not everybody tried to take advantage of me. Like you…you seem like a good person," I said shyly, which was unusual for me. "I really do owe you. We both do."

John gave a small wince of a smile at that. "It's more like a friendly obligation. Honestly, helping you makes me feel better, that I'm being useful." For a long time, we let the night sky fill the silence, let the void be enough. After a long time, he spoke again. "Since we agree that I did save your life, and your friend's, and before we do part ways, I need Intel. And any supplies you can let go of would be useful."

My thoughts backpeddled to the jeep, full of wonderful things. I wondered if it was still there where I'd parked it, in an empty loading dock behind the store, or if other wanderers had come across it and took everything we owned. Right now, I should be panicking and going back to that damn Safeway store and recovering the jeep, but right now, I just didn't give a shit and that wasn't a luxury I could afford. I would go find it, soon. I raised my brows. "Go on…"

"You said you came from a small town near Sunnydale, how much do you remember about it?"

I frowned. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"I'm on my way to Sunnydale—"

"Sunnydale?" I said sharply, interrupting him. "That's crazy."

"That's why I'm here," he said, resilient and unperturbed. "There's something there that me and my friend have to see for ourselves. Then homeward bound."

I stared at him. "That's suicide." I was no longer hungry but that mattered little was my bowl was empty. "Sunnydale is ground zero. That area has the strongest concentration of…all those horrible monsters. Specifically, the vampires. They control most of California."

When the government structure in the US fissured and eventually fell apart, the vampires hadn't. They'd quickly mobilized and soon held a monopoly but it was contained within the specific region of California. Their main concern had been a permanent stockpile of food. Ironically, after years of the devastation that the explosion of Sunnydale had reeked, people went into California, hoping to find a long lost someone, and ended up disappearing. Vampires ruled that state and it was their own safe refuge as well when their way to the Barrier proved useless or some other avenue closed on them. Thing was, if humans were willing donors, or followed by vampire rule of law, they were given protection from the other monsters and could have some semblance of a life, save the bi-monthly tributes. It was a quid pro quo system. Not a viable option for me on any given day. I'd rather just kill them all. And if I had the chance or the power, I would without a blink of an eye. Or die.

John, or whatever his real name was, reached for my empty bow. I gave it to him. A second ago, it'd tasted luscious and energizing, now, it churned in my belly like acid. "I know what you're saying is true and I accept that but I still have to go there. So I need to know what I might face on my way there, and what I will face when I am there." He really wasn't joking. I could tell. See it in the grit in his eyes. "Remember, I saved your life, and your friend's. In return, I want information. That's all I need, that's all I want." He paused. "Deal?"

I exhaled, slow and shaky. If he wanted to get himself killed, was it really my place to argue? After all, I'd tried to end it for myself just days ago…days ago, I thought, which sounded so odd to my mind…I nod, a part of me accepting the proposal even though the rest of me didn't want to. "Deal. But it's your funeral and I was five when I left. It might be sketchy."

"Probably, but you've heard up to date bits of facts I haven't but more importantly, you can give me context, lend me some of that sage experience you've acquired over the years. You know how things are now. I don't. I mean it when I say I'm not from around here." He offered a smile at me, however sad and troubled. "And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and someone will come to my rescue," he said gingerly.

I think he was joking. I hope he was. He got up and checked Trina before moving toward a black rucksack that I hadn't noticed before. He removed a couple blankets, similar to the one that is covering Trina and handed one to me.

I take the blanket, feel the scratchy material scrape against my fingertips. I look over at Trina, still quiet. "You know what, John?" I said suddenly, feeling like I needed to give him sensible advice.

"What's that JB?"

"Luck runs out. Don't temp fate." I hesitated because facing the truth hurts and knocks you down when all you want is a rallying cry of victory, however feeble and impossible it likely is. But the truth, it's made up of parcels of fact and facts are what they are.

"What is it?" John asked very softly. "About luck, JB? I can handle the truth, yours or anyone else's."

I gave him a soft smile, troubled, wanting more for him, me, Trina, my dead family, everyone. "It runs out just when you least expect it, when you think it's saved you once before but it's a trick," I answered gravely, shivering and feeling the cold again. "It always runs out just when you need it to run on a little while longer."

"True," said John, at length, removing the pot and tamping out the fire. The light touched his somber eyes and faded into darkness, just like everything around us. "But I can live with that. The rest, it isn't up to you. The rest, it has nothing to do with you. It's not even up to me." He scratched his jaw, looking as grim as I feel. He shot me a look. "You should get some rest. You need it. I slept most of the day, so I'll take first watch."

"Okay…" We fell silent again. "In the morning, I'll give you that information you'll need," I said, trying to sound firm and resolved, like John but exhaustion had crept over and through me like a pervasive drug. "And, anyway, what you did for me Trina—that was brave," I said, and meant it. "Even heroic. Stupid and crazy, which seems to be your MO, but what you did for us, damn near heroic."

He gave a small laugh, cleaning up and not meeting my eyes. More to himself than me, I think, he added, "Yeah…maybe—problem is, even heroes bleed."


End file.
